


A Man of His Word

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gambling, Locker Room, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zacharias Smith learns the consequences of betting on Quidditch...and they're not all that bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man of His Word

"One hundred and eighty to zero."

A funeral was a cheerful, upbeat affair compared to the atmosphere in the Hufflepuff locker room. The players slowly traded yellow robes for black and wrist guards for scarves and gloves, hardly speaking, never smiling. The Keeper, Little, seemed nearly in tears; Seeker Summerby attempted repeatedly to apologize, but the words never seemed quite sufficient. Only Zacharias Smith, the team captain, was showing no signs of crushed disappointment; he stalked about the room, still in his uniform, with a white-knuckled grip on his broomstick and murder in his eyes.

"One hundred," he repeated slowly, "and fucking _eighty_ to _ZERO!"_

A fourth-year Chaser dove for the floor as Smith swung his broom by the handle, a savage swipe that dented a locker and scattered equipment. Little sobbed once and fled; Summerby cringed and buried his face in his muffler. Smith snarled like a wild animal and drove his fist into a wall, hard enough that only his leather guards saved him from a broken knuckle. One by one, the other players filtered out of the room with wary glances at their leader, who continued to mutter and pace. Each time they opened the door, they let in a blast of frigid air and another chorus of 'Weasley is Our King' from the direction of the castle.

Smith flung himself down on a bench and pressed his forehead against his broom. He remained there long after the last player had departed, rehashing every pass and play of the match with the sharpest criticism. Not, as some would allege, sulking. He made quick mental notes about the formations, the use of Bludgers and even the seats and grips of individual players. Still, none of it explained how they could've gone an entire game without scoring once...

The door opened again, and still he could hear that fucking song. _Don't they ever get sick of it? _He remained where he was, with his eyes shut, some small part hoping that it was just Summerby trying to apologize again, or Jones come back for something she'd forgotten. But Zacharias Smith was a practical man, and he knew even before the long arms leaned on his shoulders who was there; he knew exactly, long before he felt hot breath on his wind-numbed ear and heard the criminally amused voice. "Still up for our agreement?"

"A bet's a bet, Weasley." Zach forced himself to stand up, shrugging off the Gryffindor's weight. Ron was still in his uniform as well; the scarlet that had seemed so dramatic against the snowy pitch brought out the highlights of his windblown hair, and accentuated a streak blood that had dried (or perhaps frozen) onto the side of his face. That had been a brilliant piece of Beating by Jones, but they still hadn't managed to score. He was almost willing to chalk it up to Dark magic. "Let's get this over with."

Weasley pouted. "You sound so thrilled."

"We lost the match, didn't we?"

"Look at it this way," Ron said, and smiled, and twined his arms around Zach's neck. "At least you're scoring now." And he caught the Hufflepuff's mouth in a very inviting kiss.

Zach considered resisting, but a bet was a bet. _What would you say to a little wager,_ Weasley had asked, _say...the loser has to do whatever the winner says. _It had sounded absolutely brilliant, at the time...he just hadn't anticipated such an embarassing performance from his team. Still, nobody was going to accuse him of breakings his word; he tilted his head into the kiss and dragged his tongue along Weasley's dry, rough lips to sooth them. Ron growled his appreciation and pulled him closer, hands roaming up and down his spine. They were both chilly and snow-damp after the long match, but Ron still managed to have hands and a mouth as hot as any furnace. _Maybe he's secretly a heliopath..._

Ron suddeny pulled back slightly and plucked at Zach's clothes. "This. Off."

"Mmm?"

"I want you naked."

Zach stared at him. "You've joking."

There was something unholy about the look in those blue eyes, however. "I won, Smith, and I want to see you naked."

"You'll have a fine time with me if I freeze to death."

Long, warm fingers curled aroung the base of his neck, drawing out a shiver. "Let me worry about that." When he didn't show signs of leaping eagerly into action, Ron dove in and planted lips on the side of Zach's neck, swiftly followed by tongue and teeth. "You promised."

Zach gasped. "When you put it that way..."

It took ages to get everything off, and Ron wasn't helping; he took perverse pleasure in exploring every inch of skin Zach slowly uncovered, principally with his mouth. Unhelpful, that, but it also left Zach feeling unusually sensitized in unexpected places by the time he stood naked before an appreciative Weasley. Sensitized, and cold. "Mmmmm." Ron held him at arm's length and ran a hand down his front, from shoulder to thigh. "I always knew you were compensating for something."

Smith swatted his hand away. "Like you'd be much bigger." Except Weasley suddenly crushed their bodies together in an incendiary kiss, and from the bulge poking into his belly Smith realized Weasley was currently much bigger indeed. "Oh god."

"King, actually."

It was strange, to have one side of his body pressed into such delicious warmth, and the other side bared to the breeze. Zach tried to squirm closer and Ron bucked his hips against him involuntarily. An idea suddenly occurred to him; he pulled his mouth away and started licking and nibbling a line down Ron's neck, using that as an excuse to untie the fastenings of his uniform. Ron groaned at the treatment, but yelped when Zach finally opened the garment and promptly wrapped it around himself. "When you said you wanted into my robes, I didn't think you meant literally..."

"I'm cold." And being pressed so close against Ron, with that much less fabric between them, was warming him up in more ways than one.

Weasley laughed, deep in his chest, and suddenly sat down on the bench. Smith fell on top of him, and only some quick scrambling allowed him to keep his position. He was straddling Ron's lap now, their erections bumping and rubbing through the fabric of Ron's pants. Correct that: some deft manunvers with one hand, and suddenly Ron's trousers were open and his cock was nudging through the fly of his boxers. Zach ground himself against Ron's thigh, and felt a streak of wetness across his belly where Ron was doing the same. He half-choked when he felt one of Ron's hands move from its station on the small of his back and start to probe between his cheeks. Felt good, felt amazing, but he was letting in a draft...

Ron suddenly pushed him back, and groped around on the floor until he found Zach's fallen yellow robe. He spread it out on the end of the bench. "There. Bend over."

"But"

"I won," Ron repeated. That grin looked even more mischevious on kiss-swollen lips. "Bend over."

Zach allowed Ron to position him, kneeling on the floor and hunched clumsily over the bench. The cold hit him again, more forcefully, until Weasley's lean body draped over his back, open robes hanging like a blanket. He heard Ron cast the lubrication spell and felt the results, a warm, slippery intrusion that he didn't mind in the least. It was quickly followed by wriggling fingers, squirming and stretching and seeking and finding the spot that made Zach's legs tremble violently. He discovered the thrust of his hips that drove those fingers in deeper, and writhed helplessly, scarcely aware of the noises escaping from between his clenched teeth. And then, with a final kiss on his neck, Ron replaced his fingers with his cock and Zacharias Smith was completely lost.

It seemed an eternity until he peaked and a second eternity until he came down from that peak; he was vaguely aware of Ron's cum dribbling down this thigh and the somewhat painful love-bite on the nape of his neck. The Gryffindor pulled away, but dragged Zach with him; they lay on the floor, with Ron serving as a living, breathing matress. With his uniform spread over them like a blanket, Zach found the arrangement more than satisfactory. "Still sore about losing?" Weasley muttered, nuzzling the side of his face.

"Yes," Zach said mulishly. "It was embarassing."

Ron smirked. "But if you hadn't won, you wouldn't've gotten shagged."

"If I hadn't lost, I would've been doing the shagging."

"Point taken."

If he scrunched up his body just so, Zach could drop his head on Ron's collarbone and use him as a pillow. The other boy hadn't even removed his wrist guards, he noted. Pervert.

"Smith..."

"Hm?"

"When's your next game?"

"April, versus Ravenclaw."

Smith raised his head and took in the unholy gleam in blue eyes.

"What would you say to a little wager...?"


End file.
